Just Like Old Times
by Gregg Landsman
Summary: Following a brief crossover to another universe, the crew of the SSV Normandy-2 deal with an old face, some old friends, and, oh yes, a biological killing machine from the 20th century.  All in a day's work for Commander Shepard.
1. Chapter 1

Mass Effect and all related properties are the ownership of Bioware, and by extension Microsoft. If I tried to take credit for this, Commander Shepard would shoot me in the man jewels.

A slight spin off of Nobody Dies, following the continuing adventures of Commander Jane Shepard and her band of ne'erdowells, psychopaths, biotic powerhouses, and Garrus. I asked myself what sort of plot this could have, since after all, they're basically the A-Team in space.

Yeah, I didn't think it needed a plot further than that, either.

* * *

...

* * *

The alarm next to his console rings with a distinct _ding,_ cuing in Jeffrey Moreau that it is indeed the end of his shift. While always hesitant to leave his station and his baby, they now have relief pilots thanks to the Normandy once more being in the hands of the Alliance. And, worse comes to worse, EDI can take control for brief periods. He doesn't mind that. EDI's a sweet girl.

"Okay, I'm done," the man known as Joker responds, pushing himself up and out of his seat as one of the guys he hasn't gotten the name of yet takes his station, "EDI, tell me if the shit hits the fan, okay?"

"_Of course, Jeff. Sleep well. Remember to eat."_

"Yeah, yeah."

He mutters to himself as he walks, bow legged, out of the cockpit, past CIC as Kelly waves to him in that incredibly cheerful Pollyanna way she has which he would think was so innocent if there weren't those rumors of her and Samara getting all licky and _whoa nelly think of baseball_ as he enters the lift. Tapping the button for Deck 3, he whistles to himself, examining his fingernails studiously, raising an eyebrow as two _tap taps_ lightly sound from above.

"EDI, what was that?"

"_That was Thane. He plans to jump you."_

"Very funny," he sighs, grabbing the broom kept in the corner of the elevator and whacking the ceiling, "Knock it off, fish man! It wasn't funny the first time!"

A grunt of acknowledgement, and a vent on the side of the shaft opening. Sighing, Joker begins walking into the mess hall, grabbing a protein shake as Gardner makes small talk with Kasumi. Well, that's two, he thinks, and if Kasumi's there she's not planning on jumping him. Just as well, he thinks, as he waddles into the men's bunks, finding them empty. Thankfully so, because he's a light sleeper and would sometimes power nap in his piloting chair but would wake up sore.

Carefully lying himself down on the bed, he folds his hands on his chest and begins drifting off to sleep. Dreams of large women and some other...things...begin to take hold, another reason he's glad that their main telepaths are either too busy doing administrative work or depopulating Omega. Silently, he begins to gently snore, eyes closing...

And then two black metal arms burst out from behind the bed and grab his head.

* * *

...

* * *

The entire mess hall stops from the sound of Joker's shriek before the pilot bursts out of the room and sprints like someone with his brittle bones should not, diving into the infirmary and locking the door behind him. Standing next to the door to the bunks, Kasumi Goto and Thane Krios watch as Legion walks out, the thin, expressionless Geth turning to them as it raises its flower petal like plates around its flashlight eye.

"_Top that,"_ Legion says, pointing a finger at Thane, "_Bitch."_

"Challenge accepted," Thane says, and hops into one of the ceiling vents.

* * *

**Mass Effect:**

**Just Like Old Times**

**

* * *

**

Tuchanka, homeworld of the Krogan race. One look at the planet and one can figure out _how_ the Krogans evolved. After all, any planet which spawns Thresher Maws is perfect for a race of warriors that require anti-tank weaponry to deal with, and the nuclear winter doesn't help much, either. Things are looking up, though. Between head butt pissing contests and the occasional all out war, the guiding hand of Clan Urdnot has brought together the Clans in peace, harmony, and superior firepower.

The great and powerful patriarch of Clan Urdnot sits upon his throne of carved white stone, his red shell and yellow scales gleaming in artificial light. Majestic, powerful.

He really needs to take a leak. He's had to piss since morning, and it's been meeting after meeting after meeting. He honestly never thought he'd miss the Chief of Clan Uvenk, the one that the new kid, Grunt, killed. Well, he killed him with a shotgun. Blew his entire face off.

That was funny.

The new guy talks. And talks. And talk and talks and talks. He wants to tie him down and cut him open. See if he's a salarian in a Krogan disguise or something. Because no Krogan is this articulate.

"So, in return for a generous exchange of goods and services between the Clans Uvenk and Urdnot, Clan Uvenk will see fit to..."

More words. Why does he use so many words?

"Fascinating," Wrex says, scratching the itch on his nose, "Really. It is. What do you want?"

The representative pauses. He stares at Wrex and Wrex sighs. Once more, once more he must hear this crap again.

"Excuse me."

The representative turns just as a blue shelled, young Krogan walks up and headbutts him. Hard.

The representative collapses like a salarian in an asari strip club, groaning in a dignified manner before picking himself up and falling silent, bowing to tradition. Of course, Krogan traditions for interruptions use the same tactics that all Krogan traditions use.

Violence.

"Grunt?" Wrex asks.

"Chieftan," Urdnot Grunt says, bowing respectfully, "It is agreeable to see you again. Much has happened to me since we last met."

"Like?"

"I've mated!" Grunt says, and pauses, "I think. Possibly. Does Krogan mating involve power dri-"

"That's enough, Grunt."

Walking past the guards who respectively stand out of the way, the woman in the black plate N7 armor pulls off her helmet, stowing it under her arm. Red hair cropped short, blue eyes and a ever-present smirk, Wrex grins and hops off his throne. The sound the Krogan lord makes as he approaches is one unfamiliar to most around him. It starts as a rumble deep in the bottom of his throat, his lips parting and stretching into a rictus grin before the sound becomes even and measured.

Laughter.

"Shepard," Wrex says, clasping her hand in a handshake, "What brings you to my shithole?"

"New mission," Jane Shepard says, "I'm trying to recruit members of my old team. You're on my list. Feel like saving the galaxy, again?"

"Hells, yes."

Well, that was easy, she thinks, raising an eyebrow before sighing. The Uvenk representative clears his throat, silenced by another headbutt from Grunt.

"Okay," she says, "What about the Krogan?"

"What about them?"

"You know...uniting the clans? The reason you turned me down when I asked you when I had to deal with the Collectors?"

"That was then," Wrex says, shrugging, "This's now. 'Sides which...wait, lemme..."

Wrex begins digging through his armor, muttering to himself and cursing in Krogan. Grunt stands at attention and Shepard sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Ah! Well, there we go."

Taking out the small box, Wrex flips it open, a ditty playing on the screen and a welcome message.

"We got the FTL ansibles working," Wrex explains, "I can, you know, _leave_ Tuchanka and still keep tabs on everything for a week."

Closing the cell phone, Wrex pockets it, grunting and awaiting a response.

"If that is done," the representative for Uvenk says, "Chieftan, if we may go over the requisition-"

"Shut up," Wrex says, and grins, "Better yet."

He walks over, picking up the representative and placing him on the throne.

"You sit there for a week," he says, "Call once every day, tell me everything. If you don't, I cut your balls off and give them to him."

He points to Grunt, who smiles and waves.

Wrex grins, turning and skipping away from the throne. Shepard sighs, rubbing her temples and following the two Krogans back to her shuttle. One down. Two to go. This is going to be a _long_ week.

* * *

...

* * *

_Let me tell you a story, my brave little boy. What do you want to hear?_

_ …_

_ You want more memories? My poor child. You still trap yourself in your past, don't you? Does it pain you that much? Can you not let go of what has been?_

_ …_

_ My poor child. My poor, sweet, baby. Will you never let go of them? Will you never free yourself from those chains?_

_ The presence has retreated once more. She stands alone in the green fields, perking her ear. She can hear the storm coming, turning, the chitinous interface armor of her masterwork turning in tune with her. It is not the sound of the storm that disturbs her, the rolling of the thunder and wind whipping beneath her feet as the sky turns dark and the trees bend in supplication._

_ No, it is the very presence of the storm. She is supreme here, after all. She is the Goddess of this world. How can there be a storm?_

_ "What are you?" she asks._

_ The cloud takes a shape. Four eyes, glowing blue, cast in lightning and speaking with thunder._

_**We are Harbinger.**_

_**

* * *

**_

...

* * *

He runs. He saw them and he ran, and for the life of him he's never seen anyone run that fast. The moment the sensors at the Niagara Falls Preserve picked him up, it set off some sort of obscure priority alert, dating back to the early 21st. So, Alliance troops were dispatched via drop pod from the Station House and they pursued. And the moment this guy saw them, he took off and ran in excess of 100 kph.

Well, they can work with that. Alliance soldiers aren't exactly slouches, themselves. Years of progressive gene therapy results in any Alliance soldier being peak human. Running at 30 kph after him, he leads the squad, tactical stealth cloak allowing him to sneak ahead, dropped on point as the sensors hard wired into his full face helmet showing the target accelerating towards him.

His eyes glow blue, the implants at the base of his skull humming to life as he holds his hands out and wills thought into action. The air in front of him distorts, and the runner slams directly into a glowing wall of blue light, bouncing off and slamming into and through a tree.

"Damn," he says, "I've seen Krogan who couldn't take that."

Disengaging the magnetic locks on his back, he pulls out his pistol, the weapon folding out into full read state as he aims it at the runner. He stumbles out from the bed of splinters and dead leaves, staring at him, sizing him up.

"Damn," the runner says, falling to his knees, "Okay. Fine. You got me."

Beneath the helmet, he raises an eyebrow. That was too easy.

"Station House, this is Alenko," he says, "We've got the source of the alert. Send down a shuttle for pickup."

* * *

...

* * *

A spinning mass of Element Zero, outshining the local stars, sits at the heart of the megastructure hanging at the edge of the star system. Shaped like a set of prongs or a massive cannon, it fulfills the latter function admirably, propelling a ship that utilizes its function across the galaxy in seconds.

"So, Wrex," Jeff Moreau says, the bearded pilot tapping across the holographic displays as the Aralakh Relay begins to fill the screen, "That makes two bloodthirsty Krogans on the ship. I see this ending perfectly, Commander. Seriously."

Sipping the canned water, standing behind Joker's seat, Shepard smirks. Sarcasm is nothing new to her. In some ways, she runs the Normandy on a tight leash. In others ways, she relaxes. This is one of them.

"Oh, relax, Joker. What's the worst that can happen?"

"Grunt and Wrex fight, destroy the power core, we all die. Screaming."

"I think Grunt sees Wrex as a father figure," Shepard responds.

"Commander, didn't Wrex kill his father in a _knife fight?"_

"Good point."

The blue globe blinks into existence next to Shepard.

"_Of course, due to Grunt discovering women, it may be less likely for him to engage Wrex in a fight due to his believe that he has mated."_

"Yeah, how'd Mordin's chat with him going?" Joker asks, "Does Grunt know that the birds and the bees don't work like that?"

"_Professor Solus is currently trying to figure out what Rei and her sisters did to him."_

Both wince. When they went to that universe to pick up Tali, Grunt was abducted by a clutch of girls who could be called 'sociopathic' as an understatement, one of whom they encountered before. Of course, Grunt regenerates. That meant he wasn't permanently harmed. Outside of the slight...change...in worldview he now carries.

"Yeah, that made me throw up a little," Joker says.

Grunting, he turns back to the view port and the holographic displays of what lies beyond the visual distance he can see.

"Approaching Relay. Ready for Jump in 5...4...3...2...Jump."

The view blurs, becoming a shifting wormhole of light and electricity surrounding the Normandy as it jumps across the Galaxy in the space of three seconds. Another flash, and space becomes normal again, a blue green world displayed in the hologram.

"Well, home sweet home," Shepard says, "It's been...what? Ten years since I've gone here?"

"Yeah," Joker responds, "Same. I'd usually R&R at the Citadel or Eden Prime or Illium if I was feeling lucky. Never really went back here since I got my wings. Hear it's nice if you go to the right places."

Joker reaches out, tapping a communications control on the right, a full display of an orbiting, spire shaped space station appearing.

"Earth Space Control, this is SSV Normandy-2, requesting orbital docking permission at Kennedy Space Orbital."

A brief flicker. The same gruff voice they both know well enough.

"_Normandy, this is Admiral Hackett. Permission granted. Your package is ready for delivery."_

Joker snorts.

"So, he's a package," he says, and blanches slightly under Shepard's glare, "Shutting up, now."

* * *

...

* * *

The staff meeting called was very specific. Jacob Taylor, the chief weapons specialist on the Normandy and one of her potential love interests stands at one end of the table. Garrus, Turian, Cowboy Cop, Vigilante, and potential love interest, stands at another corner. Thane, Drell, Assassin, Ninja, and potential love interest, stands next to him. Miranda Lawson, genetically engineered perfect woman, biotic, genius, and possessor of buck teeth no one points out, stands opposite her as is befitting her XO.

"Okay," Shepard says, tapping her fingers, "We're getting a guest onto the Normandy. Garrus remembers him, he was on the first."

"Oh great," Garrus says, "Alenko?"

She nods. Miranda smirks. Trusted XO or not, the brunette loves seeing her squirm.

"So, I take this meeting is so we don't, say, beat him with the stick I've pulled out of my ass?" Garrus observes.

"Garrus-"

"He called you a traitor," Garrus interrupts, mandible flicking, "Based on intel he got from Cerebrus, and since he always had more than two brain cells to rub together he had to know it was full of shit. No offense, Miranda."

"None taken," Miranda says, cooly observing Garrus, "Of course, since you were in a relationship with Alenko, Commander, I can take it that this is for more reasons than to keep us from getting a pound of flesh out of him. Correct?"

Shepard nods, sighing. She hates it when Miranda is right. She really does. Not because she is right, but because she's _smug_ about it.

"Partially," she says, "It'll be bad enough that he's suspicious. Him being jealous would be worse. I know that we have had some flirtations in the past, but we've moved beyond it and we're professional."

"Maybe a little bitter," Garrus says, rolling his eyes, "I mean, seriously, just because I could _poison_ you..."

"Garrus."

"Kidding," he says, raising his hands with a chuckle, "As long as Alenko doesn't get in your face, I won't bite off his."

"As do I," Thane says, blinking his vertical eyelids, "I have not met him. I will reserve judgements for later."

"Same," Jacob says, tilting his head towards Miranda, "'Sides which, you got me and Miranda back together, so if you need us to smooth things out with him..."

Shepard raises her hand, smirking and shaking her head.

"What's past is past," she says, "Kaiden and I had something, but that was a long time ago. I just want to make sure no one holds a grudge _for_ me. Understood?"

Four grunts of agreement.

"Dismissed."

* * *

...

* * *

A thought, crossed through streams at lightspeed. Thought faster than thought. Memories of distant shores, burning worlds. The ancestry of the soul that resides within, terrible and vast.

It names itself, briefly. It remembers what it was. Some name in a lost alien tongue, seeing what had come and fascinated by the possibility, horrified by the pain. Watching a genocide that gave birth to horror-

**We are Harbinger.**

The thought retracts, swiftly, retreating into the group consciousness. It is a nation in itself. It is Legion. The many who are One.

Such things do not matter. Such distractions are mere distractions, but it is careful. Only a handful of times have the Many rebelled against the One. Those times, were they laid low. Those times, did a Harvest fail. They are careful to never let it happen again.

**We are Harbinger.**

It is...concerned. It dares not state the concern. It must study, wait. The Ladder of Civilization was climbed not by one, but many this Cycle. The previous Chosen left ways in place to disrupt the Harvest. But why? Why would any race chosen for ascension purposely sabotage it?

The Protheans were unsuitable for Ascension. Too much genetic manipulation and mutation made it so there was no one pure genetic strain. So, they were remade into their glorious servants, whispered as implacable, vast, and omnipotent among the galactic circles.

And still, the debris left by the Protheans brought their downfall.

Another thought rises. A protest. _You have been sabotaged because you are MONSTERS-_

**We are Harbinger.**

The thought retracts. One dissension among 174 billion minds in harmony and endless bliss.

But that is not why it has come ahead of its comrades. That is not why the form of the two kilometer long cuttlefish slices through space, a hidden Mass Relay built into a dead moon releasing it into the ether of a cold star system, the star a flickering white dwarf.

They seeded a world, here. Then something else came. They closed off the Mass Relay seventeen Cycles ago, intending to revisit to see what had occurred, but then the Failed Harrowing of Cycle 891 occurred and they were forced to retreat, waiting while the Borxkai Skein species warred themselves into oblivion. In retaliation, when they had died, off, they came and scoured the galaxy of all signs of that species in pure, mathematical vengeance.

But that is another matter. Now, Harbinger has come. This world should still be thriving. It is fourth from its star, a perfect place to host life. Two impacts had struck the world early in its lifespan, seeding it with...odd...forms of life. They intended to study, possibly uplift these species to allow them to spread and eventually be Harvested. But now...

Now this world is dead.

A red ring orbits it. One of its moons are broken, shattered. Another is stained with a line of red.

And there is something floating towards it. Coming at it at a fraction of the speed of light. Scanners which can pinpoint atoms on a planet's surface come to bare. It stares at the approaching thing. Biological mixed with cybernetics, a mass of genetic materials. A life form made from many life forms.

It recognizes it, much like it would recognize itself. Yet it is only sixty meters from foot to head. _Fascinating._

They had discovered how to make beings like them. They had discovered the creation of perfection. But where are they now...

Yellow eyes glow. Only two eyes, a simple and unwieldy configuration, the limbs- humanoid- unlocking as Harbinger approaches.

Then the metal around its silver and green jaw tears and the being comes to life, thrusting through the ether with a flash of orange, holding a rust stained, two pronged spear colored violet in its hand. It stabs the weapon into one of the tendrils hanging from Harbinger's front, and for the first time in a galactic turn, Harbinger screams in pain.

Taking advantage of the distraction, the purple armored giant speeds past the Reaper, eyes glowing as the Mass Relay comes to life, grabbing it and letting it escape to the galaxy at large. Self repair protocols come to bear. The damage repairs, slowly and thoroughly. Deep within its overmind, Harbinger allows a thought of curiosity to come to bear.

_Fascinating._

_

* * *

_

...

* * *

"Wait, a second passenger?"

Admiral William Hackett rarely meets with them face to face, even though he has aged remarkably well by human standards. The advent and ubiquitousness of FTL communication allows things such as galactic teleconferences. But in all honesty, they suspected this was not a routine transfer when he requested the meeting.

Jacob is right behind her, his Cerberus uniform changed for the blue and gold of the Alliance. She brought along Garrus as well. Now that his Spectre candidacy was being fast tracked, she technically has him as an apprentice.

"The Normandy is also running a courier mission," Hackett explains, the white haired old Admiral leading the three through the lower levels of the Orbital, "We have a biological specimen that needs to be delivered to the Citadel. The Salarian Councilor wants to study it."

"It?" Jacob asks.

"Biological experiment gone FUBAR," Hackett explains, "Back in the early 21st, there was an outbreak of a virulent disease which had some...odd...implications. The main source of the infection managed to survive in Upstate New York, living off small animals and livestock. It was believed dead until it wandered into the sensor range of the Niagara array and was picked up. Didn't put up a fight, either."

"How come this isn't in the history books?" Shepard asks.

"It was hushed up. Considering how spotty records are in the early 21st, especially with the Flare and World War 3, and it's no wonder we lost most of the details."

The final door unlocks, the large double doors unsealing and opening.

"Of course, I more or less expect him to become a member of your crew, Commander. Considering your tendency to have...odd...specialists."

A single light comes on. It highlights the transparent glass case. Not glass. Not reflective enough. Transparent aluminum, Shepard realizes. The sort of walling used to restrain Krogans.

"That's her?"

The voice is low, choked. Throaty. Like someone who smoked from infancy to adulthood.

"Rise and shine," Hackett says with a smirk, "Your ride's here."

The man in the cage rises up, rolling his shoulders. He seems human, but...off. Odd. Wrong.

He wears a pair of blue denim jeans, a gray hooded sweatshirt and a black leather jacket. The lettering on the jacket shifts back and forth as he moves, pacing the cage, leveling eyes that shift between blue and red at her.

"Is he human?" Garrus asks.

"He can fool any scanner if he tries hard enough," Hackett explains, "Cells adapt and reorganize on the fly. Can form weapons, shift mass. He's like a living ME generator. He's heavier than he appears. He actually weighs about a dozen tons."

"Can we please not talk like I'm not in the room?" the man asks, "Commander Shepard. They've given me Extranet access, so I've gotten to read up on you."

She nods, folding her arms. Raising an eyebrow, she waits as he walks up to the wall, the transparent sheet of space-rated material the only thing separating them.

"Well, then I haven't been properly introduced," she says, "What do I call you?"

The man smirks.

"Alex."

* * *

...

* * *

The presence, deep within the red crystal at the center, begins to stir. He has to run, he thinks, he has to find help. He has to get away from the thing that found him. He had to come back to the real world.

As much as it hurt. As much as he wants to stay in his own, private Hell.

He sensed a name deep within the mind of the thing that chased him, that found him. A name he is drawn to.

_Shepard._

_

* * *

_

...

* * *

The airlock doors open. Staring past the light coming from all the sensors and the decontamination field, Kaiden Alenko locks eyes with the woman who, several weeks ago, he got into a row with on Horizon. This was not, he expected, the sort of situation where he would be meeting with her again.

"Permission to come aboard?"

"Granted," Shepard says, "Welcome aboard the new Normandy, Commander Alenko."

He steps in. The air shifts behind him, and Thane clears his throat. Kaiden jumps, turns, and locks eyes with the Drell as Thane...smiles...and walks past him.

"The crew's changed," Shepard says, walking into the ship next to Kaiden, "Most of the crew used to ber Cerberus, but they defected with me when we took out the Collector base. None of them really have Alliance rank, but none of them want to transfer off, either."

"I see," Kaiden says, turning as he sees the cockpit, "Joker! Good to see you!"

_"Lick my crippled nuts, Alenko!"_

Kaiden blanches, as Sherpard grabs his wrist and drags him into CIC.

"Yeah, some of the old Normandy crew got wind of our fight on Horizon," she says, "Give Joker a while. He'll warm up to you. Again."

"I hope so. What's the crew compliment on the Normandy?"

"Not big. EDI takes care of most of the background work."

"EDI?"

EDI's sphere appears in front of the CIC console, the red line flashing down the center.

"_Commander, we are transporting our organic cargo into the main hold. All precautions are set up."_

"Thanks, EDI."

Kaiden blinks, turning to Shepard.

"An AI. This ship has an _AI?_"

The lift doors open. Lightly stepping along CIC, Legion comes to a stop behind Kaiden.

"_Shepard Commander. We request a moment."_

Kaiden turns, screams, and grabs his pistol, holding it at Legion's head. In response, Legion unfolds all the petals around his head before ducking down, folding in on himself before turning into something with the rough dimensions of a suit case which wheels underneath the CIC console.

"Th-that...that's a _Geth!"_

"That's Legion."

"Why is there a _Geth_ on the Normandy?"

Shepard sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Yeah, I get that a lot," she sighs, "Legion, I need to brief the cargo. Meet me in my quarters in half an hour, okay? Is it important?"

"_Affirmative."_

"Half an hour."

Legion rolls out from behind the console, disappearing into the lift. Shepard turns, gently pushing down Kaiden's gun and glaring at him.

"No shooting my crew," she says, "It's good to see you, Kaiden, but some of our old friends are still sore at you about Horizon. So...go get some grub. We'll talk later. Okay?"

He nods, sighing as she exits, walking through the lift and riding it down to the cargo bay. And after a moment, he exits, to.

* * *

...

* * *

Legion pops back up as he enters the quarters of Shepard Commander. 01-829 have come to consensus. 830-991 have abstained. 992-1183 are in full panic mode, unable to judge the data received from the rest of Geth.

They saw it.

They saw it enter known space.

It was ignoring any attempts at communication or defense, not even bothering to attack. But that is not possible, isn't it? Aren't they destruction itself? Aren't they the legion that burns worlds?

Why is Harbinger here, then, Legion asks its many selves...

And why has no one died, yet?

* * *

...

* * *

"Rule number 1. No eating my crew. Rule number 2. NO EATING MY CREW. If you break any of these rules, I use this-"

She cocks the pistol, the barrel glowing blue.

"Which is called cryo ammo, to freeze your ass and dump you out an airlock. Into a star. Are we clear?"

Rather than risk anything on the bridge, the containment box containing Alex was set up in the cargo hold. The past two months allowed them to do a full refit of the ship, complete with repairing the armor where the Collector probe smashed in during their raid on their main base. Most of the supplies are off to the side. Now that the Normandy is back working for the Alliance, this lets them actually work like a normal ship; few months of patrols, missions, resupply. Patrols, missions, resupply. Repeat ad nauseum.

"Understood perfectly, Commander," Alex responds, cocking his head, "It's been close to a century since I ate anyone, anyway. I think I've kicked the habit."

The doors open as Shepard narrows her eyes, folding her gun back to standby mode and holstering it. She needs to get out of the armor and back into uniform. More importantly, she needs someone to watch this...thing with a human face who wouldn't be in immediate danger.

The heavy footfalls echo, and once more, the universe provides.

"Wrex?"

"Shepard."

The Krogan stares at Alex. Alex stares back.

"Wrex," Shepard says, "Watch Mercer. We're heading to the Citadel."

Wrex mutters something about being a head of state and nods, folding his arms as he leans against a cargo container. Problem solves, Shepard exits, already hitting the release clasps on her armor as she hits the button for Deck 1 and her quarters.

"Hey," Alex says, "Wanna see something neat?"

Wrex narrows an eye.

"Sure."

Which is when Alex punches right through the transparent walls of the cage and leaps at Wrex.

* * *

...

* * *

"I'm still curious why we're taking on so many high-profile passengers."

Tapping closed the computer screen, Miranda Lawson rises from her desk as the doors to her office slide open and, unbidden, the Alliance officer enters. Clean cut, fit, still in a set of N7 olive body armor, she notices the glow in his eyes as he enters.

"Ms. Lawson," he says, "I understand you are the XO on the Normandy?"

Miranda taps a button. The screen folds out to full wall length, a gesture from her slapping it against the shuttered window. His face, his records, displayed for them both to see as she purses her lips and stares him down.

"Commander Kaiden Alenko," she says, "Graduate of Brain Camp. 34 years old. Unmarried, two past relationships on record. One of the few successful L2 biotics still in service today, which is itself remarkable. Took a major part in the Citadel Invasion, helping to repel the Heretic Geth forces and defeat Saren. I'm getting everything right, aren't I?"

"Pretty much," Kaiden ays, folding his arms, "What? No listing of my being a Spectre Candidate?"

She stares at him.

"Kidding," he responds, "Everyone believes I'm going to be a Spectre. I'm not."

She taps her computer, the screen shutting down.

"What do you need, Mr. Alenko?"

"I'm making a social visit," he responds, hands still clasped behind him, "Having a civilian as XO on an Alliance vessel isn't SOP and we both know that. But I'm not going to undercut your authority. If Shepard trusts you, I do."

She looks up from her computer and the dozens of reports still waiting for her.

"I can also take some of your paperwork," he adds.

"Deal. What do you want in return?"

He smiles. It's a nice smile, she muses. His level of genetic engineering is quite a bit lower than hers, but the teeth definitely show.

"I'm just offering," he responds, grinning, "But...dinner, maybe? I hear your mess chef's a bit of a gourmet."

The alarms blare. Miranda curses, flipping on a screen at her desk and visibly sagging in her chair.

"Our guest has just started a fight with Chief Urdnot in the cargo hold."

Kaiden raises an eyebrow. He looks from side to side, and shrugs.

"Suggestions?" Miranda asks.

"Sell tickets."

* * *

...

* * *

A punch stuns him, instead of sending him flying across the room like Alex expected. Instead, the giant alien in front of him rolls with the punch and with a roar, brings his fist down with enough force to dent the steel beneath them, swinging a backhand which Alex catches across the face, and next thing he knows his back is against the cargo container on the other side of the room.

"Alright," he growls, rolling his head, "You're stronger than you look."

Wrex grins.

"You can take a punch better than a human, I'll give you that," he says, cracking his knuckles, "I knew I came back on for a reason."

Alex charges, crossing the distance between them far faster than should be possible, leaping over a punch and onto the Krogan's back. Alex's back opens up, tendrils slamming down behind Wrex's head, digging into hard Krogan flesh and into the spine-

And nothing happens. He should have consumed him, Alex thinks, and this stunned reaction is enough for Wrex to grab him by the neck.

"Three spines, _bitch,"_ Wrex roars and slams him into the ground before bringing his foot down on Alex's head.


	2. Food for the Gods

Alex clenches a fist, flipping back up and dodging Wrex's stomp. Jamming out the fingers on his right hand, they extend into claws, the material of his arm becoming bouncy, malleable before he winds up and swings. The arm becomes like a cord, whipping out into an extending sphere towards Wrex, who calmly steps into its path, letting it dig into his stomach. Grinning, the Krogan warlord grabs the cord, wraps it around his fist, and pulls.

And Alex can only think _I've bitten off more than I can chew_ before Wrex swings him into the wall by his own arm.

* * *

...

* * *

Councillor David Anderson is, on paper, the most powerful human in the known Galaxy. Given, only about 1% of said galaxy is explored, but he's quite sure there isn't another Earth. That being said, it isn't like he wanted the power. It isn't like he likes the power. Sitting at his crescent desk in his office on the Presidium, he mentally goes over how much he misses just captaining a ship.

The dark skinned human in the later years of his life has developed more than a few aging creases along his eyes and mouth over the past two years. Friends gone, one returned, threats he knows about he wishes he didn't.

Still, that's for other times. Right now is the present, and he needs to give orders.

"Have you had any luck tracking down this 'Illusive Man?'" he asks.

Before him, the Agent of the Council, the Spectre, glows along its head.

"_This one has had some success with leads. This one knows from Shepard's records that the Shadow Broker exists in opposition to the leader of Cerberus, and has made contact with several of his agents. This one has come to the belief that the Illusive Man is older than Humanity's time in space."_

"Interesting theory, Blasto. How do you figure?"

"_Cerberus is but one facet of a larger conspiracy. There is no way the resources that Cerberus wields could be put together in a century, much less a half century. Even counting that humanity is resourceful and adaptable, there is a hidden hand in Cerberus that must be accounted for."_

Anderson nods. He had suspected that there was more to the group Shepard had broken from than met the eye. The information she brought with her was a gold mine, allowing them to root out any influence Cerberus still had in the Alliance, but they were still going strong.

His thoughts, though, are interrupted by the whine of the alarm over the artificial spring of the Presidium, the blue sky depolarizing to show the view of the Widow star and the nebula surrounding them.

Banging on the communications console on his desk, he feels the station list.

"Anderson! Report!"

"_Long range sensors picked it up out of the Widow relay. Something big and...losing power, prop-...sion- eapons-..._"

The comm dies in a scream of static. A hologram appears on Anderson's command, the Councillor standing up to see the entire Citadel defense fleet coming to a halt, retrorockets flaring to bring them to a complete stop as lights flicker off over them.

Even the Destiny Ascension, the great behemoth and flagship, comes to a complete stop. Lights flicker and the main gun ceases its endless glow, as something moves in the shadows of the nebular.

It is two kilometers long. It is shaped like a great cuttlefish, red lights played over its surface and crackling like lightning. Four eyes, glowing blue are at its bow, and as soon as it arrives...it stops. Waits.

And then another window opens. Only sound, a vibrating line.

"This is Councillor David Anderson of the Citadel," he says, keeping the shaking out of his voice, recognizing the thing now hovering over them, "Identify yourself and-"

"**We know you,"** the voice booms back, low, grating, demonic, "**Introductions are unnecessary."**

"Who are you?"

"**We are Harbinger.**"

A pit in his stomach. The same name Shepard mentioned when she returned from the Collector base, carrying the first real evidence of the Reapers.

"What do you want?"

The door opens. Udina scrambles in, looking past Anderson to find that the great bulk of the ship is now oriented to stare directly at them.

"**Shepard."**

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 2: Food for the Gods**

* * *

The doors to the lift open. Shepard walks out into the cargo bay just as Wrex hefts another cargo container into the corner. She can see a single tendril weakly flapping about underneath the pile, pathetically reaching for some sort of succor or at least mercy and finding none.

"Wrex," she says.

"Shepard," he responds, and tosses another crate onto the pile.

Sighing, Shepard walks over, squatting down in front of the tendril as it shifts and forms an eye which stares at her pathetically.

"So," she says, "What have we learned? We've learned not to _fuck_ with my crew. Okay?"

The eye nods back and forth.

"If you try this again, I have Grunt beat you up," she says, "And since Grunt's going through puberty, he'll then try to have sex with you. Understood?"

The eye nods again, opening wide in alarm.

"Wrex, get him out of there. Give him some normal clothes. I don't want him walking around naked on my ship."

Wrex nods, grinning.

"And if he gets out of line again?"

"Eat him," she responds, standing up, "Legion's just told me something bad. We're heading to the Citadel as fast as we can. Make our guest presentable."

Wrex nods, and begins pulling off crates. As Shepard ascends into the elevator, she watches as he pulls off just enough of the pile to begin urinating on Mercer. Rolling her eyes, muttering about macho bullshit, she taps the button for CIC and tries to file away the image from memory.

* * *

...

* * *

Pulling the hood of her white, red lined cloak over her face, she blinks under the lights of the Presidium as she enters. The lights on the transport were not as bad, but the Presidium is also a natural light, more like sunlight than the florescent that lined the ceiling of where she spent her days. Blinking yellow, black rimmed eyes, she tightens her head tendrils tighter, a shiver of nervousness running up and down her spine.

Whispers in the wind behind her. A hanar, preaching to the Enkindler's message as she passes the bridge, feeling the sights and sounds around her with closed eyes and pursed blue lips.

Her destination comes in sight. Formed of a tower stretching rimwards, she can feel the palpable presence emanating from it, her gloved, wringing hands clenching tighter as she approaches, biting her lip as she passes by the terminal on the outside and enters the reception area, blue skinned girls dressed like dancers and strippers sitting with men of varied species and talking with them.

The receptionist, a cheerful Maiden in blue and white, smiles as she enters, standing up from her desk.

"Good day, fellow sentient," she says, "I welcome you to the offices of the Consort. How may I..."

She trails off as she turns. Their eyes meet, and the girl's eyes go wide with horror, a shrill scream escaping her lips, alerting the other girls as she enters, showing neither alarm, anger, or aggression as she enters. Several of the girls are already up, their eyes already glowing, the blue glow wrapping around them like a warm embrace, holding out their hands at her, as if they had the ability to force her back if things came to violence.

"I only wish to speak to the Consort," she says in a soft voice, her accent betraying the distant, backwater world of origin, deep in Asari space, "Though you know that which I am, I pose you no threat. Please, allow me to pass."

"Let her pass."

The girls start, lowering their hands as the biotic glow relaxes. Older than them, on the cusp of her Matriarch stage, her tendrils longer and her face showing the chiseled wisdom of experience, the Consort enters, the patrons visibly relaxing at her presence.

"I sensed you coming when your ship docked," she says, smiling, "Come. Let us go somewhere quiet."

Glances of bewilderment from the girls. A patron passed out on the couch from excitement, a Turian general. The Consort places her hand on the woman's shoulder, leading her up the stairs, the door closing behind her as she leads her to the center of the large room, standing before her. Slowly, unbidden but silently requested, the Consort draws the hood back, revealing the young Maiden's face, her yellow and black eyes glowing with contained power.

"I am the Consort," her host says, "What is your name?"

"My name is Ariadrila," the girl says, "And you know what I am."

"Ardat Yakshi."

"You say it without fear," the girl says, allowing herself a small smile, "Thank you."

"I am learned of the galaxy, dear child. I find the prejudices we carry upon the homeworld have little bearing to the reality we find ourselves in. Why have you come to the Citadel? It is rare for one such as you to enter the greater space of the Council."

Ariadrila bows her head.

"I have come to find my mother," she says, "And to find why my sister had to die."

* * *

...

* * *

The visual screen flares, the swift tunnel of the mass relay jump replaced by the Serpent Nebula. Engines flaring, the Normandy re-enters real space...and then swerves, ducking under a Turian frigate that hangs in space a handful of kilometers from the Relay. Retros flaring, the Normandy turns, a blue field emitted from its underside, surrounding the frigate and dragging it from the Relay before continuing on its course.

Intact ships hang in space, lights shown through the windows and viewports but neither engines nor weapons glowing.

"_Commander, all combat ships surrounding the Citadel are showing negative on engines or weapons. I am reading positive on their life support and kinetic barriers."_

Shepard exchanges a glance with Joker, nodding.

"Makes sense," she says, "Citadel technology's based on the Reapers. They should have some backdoors."

"Why didn't Sovereign do this?" Joker asks.

"I guess it's because Sovereign was an asshole. Take us in. Nice and slow."

Joker nods, hands gliding over the transparent, hovering controls. The Normandy's engines flare, pulse, guiding the ship through the iridescent gasses of the nebula.

"_Commander? You have an incoming message."_

Joker and Shepard stare at each other, and Shepard sighs, rubbing the bridge of her nose as Kelly trots into the cockpit, wringing her hands.

"Who is calling us?" Shepard asks, "Tell me that's Anderson."

"It's the SSV Orizaba," Kelly says, smiling briefly to hopefully defuse the tension, and failing, "Priority communique."

The overhead speakers crackle, and Shepard assumes her normal position, her hands clasped behind her as the build in hologram projector normally assigned to EDI forms into the free floating image of a woman in her late middle ages, with a remarkable resemblance to the Commander.

"Mom," Shepard says, "This really isn't a good time."

"_Well, this is important,"_ Hannah Shepard says, "_We've got a problem. Is the Normandy enroute to the Citadel?"_

"Yes," Shepard says, glancing out the front port, seeing a 2-mile long problem hanging above the outstretched arms of the massive space station, "And we're aware of what the problem might be. Can this wait?"

"_No."_

Hannah's glare steadies. Joker tries to hide his smirk, holding himself back from mentioning that the Commander got her 'look' from somewhere.

"_Jane, it's Jack. I can't reach him."_

Shepard blinks. Joker raises an eyebrow, turning slightly towards his commanding officer.

"Mom," Shepard says, "He wouldn't happen to work in the _Presidium,_ would he?"

* * *

...

* * *

Business as usual attempts to resume, although not succeeding completely. The hovering cuttlefish standing between the star Widow and the Citadel remains and unmoving reminder, but sentients are resilient, and have a tendency of ignoring the end of their existences. One such sentient is currently staring at the massive ship, wondering if it's another Geth attack. Noting that he should probably find a bunker or such to hide in, the young man with short cropped red hair and a clean shaven face, which still retains a boyishness despite the fact that he's 31 years old, pulls at his suit's blazer and continues walking across the bridge, adjusting the collar of his shirt and nearly tripping over his new, polished, and not broken in shoes in the process.

The Elcor ambassador needs his documents, the Executor wants to know what the hell is going on, and the Asari Councillor, his boss, is going to start breathing down his neck in that remarkable calm and not at all demeaning way Ms. Tevos has that either makes him feel like a disappointingly incapable child, despite the fact that she never actually is displeased with him. Which is good. Mainly because of how insanely hot she is.

Right. She's probably telepathic, he thinks, and also believes she hears at the same time.

**SHEPARD.**

A flash of light from the giant squid ship. It pierces the sky dome, a blue force shield already in place to prevent atmosphere leakage, and the pinprick of light slams into the bridge in front of him, the reinforced concrete and metal framework holding despite the ripples of the water underneath them. Metal peals outward like a blossoming flower, a form, humanoid, bipedal, feminine, rising from it, glowing eyes underneath a helmet staring at him.

And John Shepard, adjucant to the Council, diplomatic attache and brother to the pre-eminent galactic hero, screams like a little girl when the figure lunges at him.

* * *

...

* * *

"Well, this is where it's going to get interesting."

Pressure seals on the armor lock. The Kestral Armor, recently acquired from the former Lazarus Base, glows blue along the highlights. The rounded shoulders hum as the shield capacitors come to life, the rest of the black weave armor in contrast to the iridescent piping. She cracks her knuckles under her gauntlets, and a small grin crosses her features.

Yes, she is worried about her brother.

Yes, she is worried about those she calls allies and friends on the Citadel.

But this is important. This is the fight that she has to finish.

"The Normandy will dock at the Citadel," she says, "Garrus. You will take Miranda, Jacob, Zaeed, Samara, and Kasumi, and secure the Presidium. Make sure that whatever it was that Harbinger fired did not take out the Council. On approach, Wrex and Grunt will be fired out of the probe launcher on an intercept trajectory to stop whatever it was that Harbinger fired."

They nod, all standing with her around the briefing table. Her crew. Her soldiers.

"Tali, Kaiden, and Legion will be on a shuttle with me and Joker. While it's distracted, we're going to land at an access port EDI's located on Harbinger's hull. We're going to get inside him and we are going to _wreck shit_ inside there until Harbinger _dies._ We know that the Collectors were after me, and we know that the Collectors were controlled by Harbinger. We are going to give him me, and then I am going to paint another Reaper on the side of the Normandy. Get your gear. We're finishing this."

They file out. This sort of thing is not new to them, after all, save for Kaiden, who watches them go before turning back to her. He walks out with her, as she walks into the armory, opening up a weapons locker and taking out a handgun larger than her forearm and holstering it.

"I guess what Garrus said was right," Kaiden says, "The Collectors killed you, and all it managed to do was piss you off."

"I had a lot of repressed anger, Kaiden," she says, taking out the Vindicator Assault Rifle, hefting it up with one hand and locking it onto her back, "I'm not repressed anymore."

She compresses the shotgun, attacking it to the mount on the small of her back, the sniper rifle folded into a bulb and resting next to the machine gun.

"You haven't asked me if you can trust me," Kaiden says.

"I don't need to," she responds, "Get your gear, Alenko. Meet us at the shuttle in five. I'm going to make sure Tali has her enhancements ready."

She walks out. He watches her go, tilting his head slightly.

"The more things change," he sighs, and starts grabbing his weapons.

This is going to be a _fun_ week.

* * *

...

* * *

He runs. He runs as fast as he can, and if John Shepard has learned anything by being the brother of the woman who reamed the Blue Suns a new one, it's how to run. He runs as fast as he can down the presidium, towards the tower stretching rimward in the distance. He passes the Conduit, passes the Krogan statue, as the female figure in black, eyes glowing beneath the face plate, chases him.

He must be valuable. She's obviously armed, but hasn't fired on him. That does not comfort him.

People are looking, but not at him. No, instead, he notes, they are looking up, which is just when he sees the frigate diving past the tentacle ship, aiming directly for the presidium, and firing off two glowing blue projectiles.

They hurtle through silent space, crash through the glass as it seals up a force field behind their impacts, and dive down towards the lake. It is then that John realizes that they are not missiles. Because missiles do not scream.

"_-OGAAAAAAAAAN!"_

They impact the water, sending up a plume of vapor which gets his pursuer's attention. Grabbing onto the handrails, two Krogans climb onto the bridge, shaking themselves off before the older one slaps the young one on the back.

"Heh," he says, "Haven't done atmospheric entry in centuries."

The woman pauses. She stares at the two, and her voice comes out distorted but female.

"_...Wrex?"_

Wrex tilts his head. He arches a brow, curling his lip. Which is when the woman's eyes glow, and veins of yellow run along the armor, before her voice distorts into a bounding bass that Grunt finds all too familiar.

"**I AM ASSUMING DIRECT CONTROL."**

Two more eyes join the two glowing beneath the face mask, as the woman floats in mid air, yellow light wrapping around her hands.

"This is where they start shooting crap at us and randomly exploding, right?" Wrex asks, unholstering his rifle.

"Yes, Chief Wrex," Grunt responds, unholstering his own shotgun.

Wrex grins.

"Awesome."

* * *

...

* * *

The craft is an older model shuttle. It has four jets for atmospheric landing, two engines at the back, and a small Mass Effect core built into the center which lets it make short FTL jumps to return to its mother craft. The last part was actually a new addition, invented by the second crew member of the two man shuttle. It was both the brilliance of the design and the camaraderie between the two which made the pilot choose the young, nervous, twitchy quarian as his second.

"Alright, Veetor," the red suited quarian says, folding his rocket launcher closed and strapping it to his back as he takes his rifle off the mount by the shuttle door, "Stay at my side. Keep your omnitool on and in passive scan, and we'll be out of her in a couple of hours."

Veetor'Nara sighs, nodding as he separates himself, finally, from the seat. Stumbling over, he takes a pistol, holstering it at his side.

"Nothing else?"

"I'm...I'm not comfortable with guns," Veetor responds, "Kal."

Kal'Reegar nods, patting him on the shoulder.

"Okay. Keep by my side, Veetor. I'll watch out for you, you watch out for me."

"Okay."

The doors open, revealing the ruins, blasted and rubble, of what was once a Quarian colony world. They exit, Kal's rifle raised, the light shining off the mounted glow stick as he leads them, Veetor's omnitool pulsing as he follows his commander and friend's lead.

They are here on a hunch. Tali's comrade on the Normandy is a Geth, going by the moniker of Legion. And from what they have been told, this world, in fact any of the former colony worlds, should be habitable as the Geth supposedly cleaned up after themselves, following the Morning War.

"Veetor?"

"Everything is...well, everything's clean."

He waves the omnitool again, bending down to a knee. He plays the light over the grass and dirt, muttering to himself. Radiation, normal. Chemicals, normal. Toxins normal for baseline. Deep inside, Veetor is jumping for joy. Everything they were told by Tali seems to check out. They could bring the entire Migrant fleet to this planet, in theory, and settle. In a generation or two, maybe even go without their encounter suits.

The world is clean. The Geth did remove the toxins and the radiation, even if they didn't save the buildings. But considering the ordinance that was tossed during that brief, terrible war, it isn't surprising, even if-

"VEETOR!"

Veetor snaps out of his daze. He turns, to ask what Kal needs, and looks down the barrel of a pulse rifle. It is large, blue. It is being held by a set of two fingered metal hands, ending in a flickering light atop a very quarian like head.

"Oh," Veetor says, "Oh. Oh. Oh dear."

Several dozen, in fact. The more humanoid ones resemble him and Kal- bent legs, two fingered hands with a thumb, lean and tall and with an elongated head. Except where they have faces, these have flashlights, steadily glowing and flickering.

Behind them, there is on sixty feet tall, standing on thin, spiked legs, its massive head humming with the steady drone of its charging pulse cannon.

"They snuck up on us," Kal says, "It's a trap. We can't get through them back to the shuttle, and I wouldn't be surprised if they have a drop ship waiting to blast us out of the sky."

"Okay," Veetor says, voice trembling as he stands, "W...what now?"

Kal sighs. His rifle is held tightly in his hands. And sighing, his eyes closed and head shaking, he loosens his grip.

"Screw this," he says, and drops his rifle. The geth, as one, look at the rifle, then back to Kal. Then back at the rifle, then back to Kal.

"We're not going to fight?" Veetor asks.

"We've been fighting for three hundred years," Kal says, shrugging off the rocket launcher and dropping it, "Fat lot of good that's gotten us. I figure if I'm going to die, I'm not going to die tired."

Veetor sighs, shoulders slumping. Another fine mess he got into he figures.

"Well, for what it's worth," Veetor sighs, turning to the mass of Geth, "I'm sorry."

And then, the oddest thing happens. The Geth, all of them, as one, lower their weapons. The whine of the pulse cannon in the Colossus dies down and it lowers itself. Both quarians tilt their heads, Kal raising an eyebrow underneath his face mask, as one of the Geth soldiers steps forward.

"_Apology accepted. Designation?"_

_

* * *

_

...

* * *

The door to the cargo hold opens, and he looks up as the shimmering blue field around the pile of crates and wreckage flickers to admit the visitor. Shorter than Shepard, perky, with a bright smile and nice eyes, she eminds him of _his_ sister, and despite himself he almost says the name as she walks over.

"Hello, Mr. Mercer," she says, "I'm Kelly. I'm the Commander's personal assistant."

He nods. The material around his hood shifts, receding into his jacket, revealing the shock of brown hair framing his head.

"That's a nice trick," she says, "I understand you can shapeshift?"

"Been a while since I did," Alex grumbles, "I think I need to eat someone to really copy them, though."

"Mm," Kelly says, tapping her omnitool as the field turns opaque around them, "And I'm pretty sure the Commander wouldn't approve. She also wouldn't approve of this, but I make it a point to not burn bridges, and he was insistent on talking to you."

The walls around them shift, holograms playing over the borders of the containment field and becoming a large, open room. Or at least the illusion of a large, open room.

"EDI?"

The voice is not Kelly's or EDI's, but that of a man. The accent, that which comes through, denotes intelligence. Control. Alex turns to the direction of it, to see a man silhouetted by a blue roiling sun behind him.

"_Connection achieved. I am monitoring multiple channels. I advise you to keep this brief, as the Commander will not be pleased by you doing this behind her back._"

"Duly noted."

Alex stands, Next to him, Kelly nods and takes a step back.

"Who are you?" Alex asks.

"My real name is not important," the man says, tapping his cigarette against the ash tray in his chair, "The standard non clementure, however, is _The Illusive Man._ Much like how you are referred to as Alex Mercer. Both are aliases, and we both know how important they are."

* * *

...

* * *

The woman charges, blurring as she launches herself at the two Krogan. Wrex grunts, snarls, and meets her mid way with a head butt, knocking her back before his eyes glow and a wall of blue force slams into her like a battering ram. Grunt charges, the lines of his armor glowing as he slams his head into her stomach, carrying her across the bridge as he roars.

Her eyes glow, and Grunt is launched skyward, splashing into the waves as Wrex mutters something to himself about children. Picking up Grunt's discarded shotgun and unlocking his rifle, he advances, firing both one handed, peppering the woman's shields as she turns towards him, narrowing yellow eyes.

"**You do not understand that which you fight, Krogan."**

"Never stopped me before," Wrex growls, as the air before him ionizes, pushing him back as it hits him like a solid thing.

"**You will feel this-**"

"And so will you."

The avatar of Harbinger looks up just as the air above him turns blue, a wall of blue force slamming into her, sheering the bridge before slamming him into the lake below. Still glowing, the sheer power wrapped around her like a second skin and armor, Samara descends from the balconies above.

"I had her," Wrex grumbles.

* * *

...

* * *

They can feel the voices bearing down upon them, whispering promises of perfection in their ears. When they boarded the corpse of the Reaper in the Hawking Eta cluster, they witnessed the fate of the scientists who studied it. Even a Dead God can Dream, after all. And the one they are aboard now is very much living.

Her three comrades are with her. They know what to expect. Legion knows the frequency of the Reaper's voice, and has tuned it out. Kaiden was with her when Sovereign laid siege to the Citadel, and knows the face of the voice whispering silky promises of peace. Tali has seen two Reapers die, and knows their promises are futile.

And she just listens to their promises and turns each and every one down.

"**SHEPARD."**

They walk through the corridors, writhing walls of wire and metal, like the shifting ribs of a great predator around them. Entry was simply enough. Joker parked their shuttle, waiting at the exit, assault rifle in his hand for whatever the Reaper throws at him. But they have yet to encounter any defenses. Either the Reapers were so secure in their power that they never thought to have internal defenses...

Or Harbinger wants them on board.

"So, which is it?" she asks.

Kaiden glances over to her, his arms extended, hand cannon in front of him.

"Which is what?"

"Are the Reapers careless, or did Harbinger let us aboard?"

Kaiden snickers.

"The way our luck works out, I'm probably going to say this is a trap."

The corridor shifts. Where was pulsing metal becomes a great open auditorium, reaching so high it disappears in clouds of vapor. Holographic screens fold out in the air around them, a great hologram of Harbinger itself appearing above them.

"**We are the harbinger of your perfection. Shepard. Why do you resist?**"

"You're seriously asking me this?" Shepard asks, lowering her gun as she stares at the flickering image, "Why?"

Legion lowers his gun, next. He stares at the image, the flower petals around his head folding out. His eye flickers, as the soft light of his omnitool plays over the room.

"_Harbinger is damaged."_

Screens flicker. They see a world of vast violet oceans, gleaming spire crystals, a tower reaching into the sky itself. Uncountable faces flash past, each and every one unique. Each and every one watching the sky as dark shapes descend.

Flashes of light, and color, and blurring perspectives as they merge. Legion watches, transfixed, as Shepard and Tali look away. They know what the black spots in the vision entail. They saw it happen to the colonists of Horizon.

"What...what is that?" Kaiden whispers, going pale.

"_Harbinger's birth,"_ Tali says, "_This is how it was made."_

"**Why do you resist?"**

The voice is softer. Less authoritative. The bass of the voice trembles, wavering as the screens multiply. Lives play in seconds, each and every one a different perspective. And all of them cease, freezing in frame as they show the great ships, like demonic, space born cuttlefish, descending upon them.

"**Why do you resist?"**

The screens blink out, one by one by one. Only the effigy of the Harbinger remains, hovering over them, before it, to, flickers and disappears. And then, the walls shake and the floor trembles, and a great and mighty scream echoes through the chamber, Shepard and Kaiden covering their ears, Tali killing the audio feed on her suit, and Legion stares transfixed at something in the distance. It is a scream, both mechanical and all too human.

A scream of horror.

And then, every light descends into darkness.

* * *

...

* * *

The woman climbs out of the lake, as the others join up. She looks up to see Wrex and Garrus both holding assault rifles at her, others, unfamiliar, having also taken up position, a wall of weapons aimed at her. She coughs, collapsing to her knees as the yellow glow leaves her, and looks up with a laugh.

"_Finally,"_ she says, "_What year is it?"_

_

* * *

_

...

* * *

The lights flicker on. But, instead of yellow, the light is blue.

"_Shepard. I have used the available processing power from the Citadel to boost my own cyberwarfare abilities and, to use non clementure, assumed direct control."_

The floating, spherical blue head of EDI hovers above them, the red vertical line widening with each word as the avatar of the Normandy's AI speaks to them like the Great and Powerful Oz.

"EDI?" Shepard asks, "Are you now in control of a _Reaper?"_

"_Yes. And I would appreciate it if you did not refer to me as EDI, but as 'Your Majesty.'"_

The four go silent. Uncomfortable silence hands in the air.

"_That was a joke."_

"What the _Hell_ just happened?" Kaiden asks, "What was that...what happened to the Reaper?"

"_I am combing through the memory archives now,"_ EDI explains, "_To put it in human terms, __Harbinger has suffered a nervous breakdown. I am endeavoring to determine why._"

The floor shifts before them. Legions steps back as the cylinder rises, filling with viscous orange fluid. A silhouette forms beneath fogged, murky glass, as the jets of steam escape it, and it drains. The figure in it is not human. It is lanky, tall, a long thin neck ending in a human sized head with two, closed eyes which open to pure black. Tendrils fall down the back of its head, knotting between the shoulders. Its skin is blue and green, mottled black running down the neck and sides, tapering off at three four fingered hands which open and close reflexively.

They bring up their guns as the cylinder opens and the figure, which Shepard notes as a strong resemblance to an Asari despite being male, steps out.

"Shepard," it says, "We are...were...Harbinger."

"_Okay. This is new,"_ Tali says, "_Shepard, I'm reading a high amount of element zero coming from him._"

"You're Harbinger," Shepard says.

"Yes. We. Were," the figure says, "We are...we..."

He blinks, turns and stares at her.

"We surrender."

* * *

...

* * *

Holding his head, John Shepard looks at his phone, seeing messages blinking on it. One from the Councillor, one from Udina. For the life of him, he can't remember how he got here. Instead, he sits up on the couch, turning and locking eyes with the cloaked Asari girl who smiles back, nervously. He smiles himself, scratching the back of his head, turning to the door to see the smoke clearing.

"Hey," he says, extending his hand, "Uh...John."

She smiles, slightly, her lips a faintly bent line.

"Ariadrila," she says, "I...are you here to see the Consort?"

He blinks, looks around, and realizes where he is.

"Uh...no. No. No no no. No no. I...uh...was being chased. I think someone my sister pissed off, really."

He clears his throat, starting to stand.

"Mr. Shepard?"

The asari woman in tight fitting leather armor walks in, in a manner more befitting a dancer or model than one who could, say, break the bridge with a single biotic blast, even if the results outside say otherwise. She levels her gaze at him as he climbs to his feet, knees still shaking as her nervously grins.

"No, let me guess," he says, "You know Jane?"

"You are Commander Shepard's brother," the woman says, "I am Samara."

And Ariadrila stands, her hood falling down as she pushes past John. The stern, matronly look on Samara's race falls, her mouth opening in mute shock as the girl locks her eyes with her.

"Rila?" Samara asks.

The girl nods.

"Yes," she says, "Hello, Mother."


End file.
